If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow， it can also take place in joy. This word is not too much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock， and the sorrow was in the beginning. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory， when the call of happiness becomes too insistent， it happens that melancholy rises in man’s heart： this is the rock’s victory， this is the rock itself. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged. Thus， ？dipus at the outset obeys fate without knowing it. But from the moment he knows， his tragedy begins. Yet at the same moment， blind and desperate， he realizes that the only bond linking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl. Then a tremendous remark rings out： “Despire so many ordeals， my advanced age and the nobility of my soul make me conclude that all is well.” Sophocles’ ？dipus， like Dostoevsky’s Kirilov， thus gives the recipe for the absurd victory. Ancient wisdom confirms modern heroism.
One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness. “What！ by such narrow ways—？” There is but one world， however. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from the absurd discovery. It happens as well that the feeling of the absurd springs from happiness. “I conclude that all is well，” says ？dipus， and that remark is sacred. It echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. It teaches that all is not， has not been， exhausted. It drives out of this world a god who had come into it with dissatisfaction and a preference for futile sufferings. It makes of fate a human matter， which must be settled among men.
All Sisyphus’ silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is his thing. Likewise， the absurd man， when he contemplates his torment， silences all the idols. In the universe suddenly restored to its silence， the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious， secret calls， invitations from all the faces， they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is no sun without shadow， and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his effort will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate， there is no higher destiny， or at least there is but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest， he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life， Sisyphus returning toward his rock， in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which becomes his fate， created by him， combined under his memory’s eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus， convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human， a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end， he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling.
I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain！ One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone， each mineral flake of that night- filled mountain， in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
28
Give Me Liberty， Or Give Me Death
不自由，毋宁死
Mr. President，
No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism， as well as abilities， of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights； and， therefore， I hope that it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen， if， entertaining as I do， opinions of a character very opposite to theirs， I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery； and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth， and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time， through fear of giving offence， I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country， and of an act of disloyalty towards the majesty of heaven， which I revere above all earthly kings.
Mr. President， it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth， and listen to the song of that Siren， till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men， engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty？Are we disposed to be of the number of those who， having eye， see not， and having ears， hear not， the things which so nearly concern their emporal salvation？ Formy part， whatever anguish of spirit it may cost， I am willing to know the whole truth； to know the worst and to provide for it.
